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“What’s going on downthere?” I noticed he wasn’t quite as, shall I sayhardas before.

Jameson shrugged hiseyes wary. “It’s cold in here. He’s shy.”

It was freezing inhere. That was no lie. My nipples could cut through an iceberg. These days,they did that a lot.

“Shy you say?”

“Yes, shy.” The waryeyes dropped. “I just slipped trying to be sexy. He needs his ego stroked.”

“Stroked?” I reachedbetween my legs where he was knelt, running my hand from the tip to base, hehardened further with a groan.“That kind of stroking?”

“Yes, stroking...good.”

My foot slipped againstthe oil pan, spraying oil against us.

“Fuck...that stings,” Jameson’s hand flew to hiseyes.

“What stings?”

“Oil...in my eye.I can’t see now...there seems to be three of you.”

“Aim for the one in themiddle.” I mumbled guiding his face to mine.

Thoughts of the oilspill were fleeting as he slipped inside with an oil slick of my own. It shouldhave hurt. There I was sitting on the edge of a rubber tire as my dirty heathenpushed against me and oh was he dirty...andI meanactuallydirty.

His hands were coveredin grease, oil and god knows what else which in turn was now all over me. Ilooked like I was trying to disguise myself for battle.

“I came here to tellyou I was going to make you breakfast.” I said trying to reason with myself asto why I was now spread out, once again, on a car, except this time it was asprint car.

“Don’t distract me withfood.” He warned. “Can you stick your leg on my shoulder?” Jameson reached forthe hem of his t-shirt yanking it over his head in one quick movement. Hismuscles flexed moving closer. The bruises from his healed ribs were beginningto turn yellow although new bruises formed along his right side from his brawlwith Mike.

I placed my leg on his shoulder,my foot rested against his neck as he spread my legs out in front of him.

“No talking eh? I thinka little dirty talking is good sometimes. It’s agooddistraction.”

“Don’t test me, honey.”He removed my hands from the tire and placed them against the wing above me.“You might want to hold on.”

“I make a bitchinomelet.”

“Omelets, really?” hegroaned picking up the other foot and placing it on his shoulder. He thenplaced both of them together against his right shoulder. His hands wrappedaround my hips pulling me toward him. “I love omelets.”

“I know you do.”

“How’s that...does it feel good?”

“Good...yes...verygood.”

“Verygood?”

“Amazing, back to theomelet,”

“You really want totalk about omelets when I’m fucking you against my sprint car? Because if youkeep that up, I’ll be forced tofightdirty,”

“Dirtierthan this?”My fingers swept down his greasy forearms and chest shuddering at the sight.

“You have no ideawhat I’m capable of. I haven’t evenbegunto show you everything I’vedreamed of doing in this shop.” He reached for an air socket next to his barefoot, thrusting harder but keeping the air socket in his hand. Carefully hedrew the cool metal of the socket up my thigh he was holding firmly against hischest. “You were saying?”

“I surrender.” Ishivered. “Just fuck me already.”